To say of shame - what is it? Of virtue - we can miss it; Of sin-we can kiss it, And it's no longer sin.

On the mountains of memory by the world's wellsprings, in all man's eyes, where the light of life of him is on all past things, death only dies.

The tadpole poet will never grow into anything bigger than a frog; not though in that stage of development he should puff and blow himself till he bursts with windy adulation at the heels of the laureled ox.

But now, you are twain, you are cloven apart Flesh of his flesh, but heart of my heart.

There is no God found stronger than death; and death is a sleep.

Time turns the old days to derision, Our loves into corpses or wives.

When fate has allowed to any man more than one great gift, accident or necessity seems usually to contrive that one shall encumber and impede the other.